No Going Back (29 page)

I yelled, “Security! Lights!”

One of the security men from each side of the stage ran toward me. Lights above me snapped on.

I could now see clearly enough to tell that the man was young, late twenties I guessed, about the age I looked, though of course you can never be sure. On the ground was a long rolled tube of some sort.

The man gasped again and said, “I was just bringing her a present. That’s all.”

More of the crew appeared around the stage.

Zoe came running in.

“You didn’t have to hit me,” the man said.

One of the security men picked up the roll.

The other stood in front of the man. “You know you’re not allowed in here right now, right?”

The man nodded.

“I’m sorry our associate hit you, but he was only acting to protect Passion. There are people who would hurt her. I’m sure you understand.”

The man nodded his head quickly. “I do, but I would never hurt her. Never.”

The security guy nodded at me, and I released the man’s arms.

He straightened and rubbed his shoulders and shook out his arms.

The security guy said, “We’ll see that she gets your present, but now you have to go. Will you be here tonight?”

The man nodded.

The security guy forced a smile. “It’ll be a great show.”

“It always is,” the man said. “I’ve seen her five times.”

The security guy kept smiling as he nodded toward the other security man and said, “My associate will escort you out.”

The two of them left.

The security guy faced me. When the intruder was out of earshot, the guy said, “Thanks. We try not to hit them, but I appreciate you stopping him.”

“Why were you so nice?” I said.

“PR,” the guy said. “Part of the job. My partner there was recording the whole exchange. If the jerk tries to make something of it later, we have proof that all we did was treat him well and escort him out.”

“Do you hit them when you have to?” I said.

“Of course,” the security guy said. This time, his smile was genuine.

Zoe came over and stood next to me. “What happened?” she said.

The security guy returned to the stage.

I told her.

“Thanks,” she said, “for protecting Passion.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “It’s good to know we can count on you.”

She left her hand there a moment longer, then turned away and headed out. “Show’s in four hours,” she said, her voice trailing off as she walked briskly away.

I took off after her so I could hear the rest.

12 days from the end

Paruva City

Planet Haven

CHAPTER 37

Jon Moore

T
he next week passed with the relentless rhythm of a long march. Wake up. Finish packing. Fly to the next town. Load in. Rehearse. Do the show. Load out. For most, party, then crash.

I skipped the party part.

I watched each show from backstage, stage right, next to Zoe. Passion and Zoe changed the playlist each night, occasionally adding or deleting songs, sometimes just tinkering with the order. Even if they hadn’t, though, I would have enjoyed the shows. I never tired of the music. I also, I realized, never tired of listening to it while standing next to Zoe, occasionally glancing at her, watching her sing along, smiling when she caught me looking.

Each night after the show, she invited me to the VIP parties as Passion took her away. Passion, Zoe explained to me the third morning, was not comfortable in those affairs without Zoe, because if something went wrong or someone made Passion uncomfortable, Zoe could always fix it.

Each night, after they left, I went back to Lobo.

The amphitheater in Paruva was, like the one in Mass, built into the side of a hill. Wide tunnels led into the space. As the show was about to start, I was walking up one of them after resolving a dispute about an attendee with a VIP ticket. I was hurrying so I would be in place to see the whole show. A few straggling members of the sold-out house were running to their seats. Because they blocked my view of the right wall of the tunnel, I almost missed the young boy there, but as I passed him, I heard him crying. I glanced back at the sound, then looked down, and there was a boy, maybe five, six years old, sitting alone against the wall. He had a reader and a pillow.

I walked over to him and sat beside him. “What’s wrong?” I said.

“I’m not supposed to talk to people except my dad and my mom,” he said.

I nodded my head. “That’s a good plan, except for one thing.” I showed him my physical pass, the one I rarely used. It identified me as J. Johnson and as Staff. “Do you know what this is?”

“Sure,” he said. “I’m not stupid. I’ve been to lots of Passion’s shows. It says that you work for her.”

I nodded again. “Lots of shows, huh? How many?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know exactly, but every single one here on Haven. My dad says we’re going to see all the shows on this tour.” He sounded both proud and sad. “Except I just hear them, not see them. That’s the more important part anyway.”

“It is,” I said. “It definitely is.”

Passion began to sing, and the boy stopped talking. We listened to the song together.

For the first time, I couldn’t enjoy her music. I looked at the boy, and I thought about the family that would leave him alone in a place like this, and the anger rose in me until there was no room for anything else.

As the audience was applauding after the song ended, I said, “Do you know where your dad’s sitting? I’d love to talk to him.”

“Sure,” the boy said, “in case I need to ask somebody to find him for me.”

“Mind telling me?” I said.

The kid shrugged. “No need. He always comes to check on me after the first song, when Passion turns the light on the audience.” The pride came back into his voice. “I know how these shows work.”

“You sure do,” I said.

The boy pointed. “There he is.”

A thin man almost my height came down the walkway.

“I’ll see you later,” I said to the boy.

I stood and intercepted the boy’s father when he was still six or seven steps away. I blocked his path with my body. As he started to speak, I grabbed his hand and bent it backward hard, not hard enough to do damage but enough to hurt.

“Hey,” he said, “what—”

I put my hand over his mouth and walked up the walkway, my body forcing his away from his son. “Don’t say a word unless I tell you to,” I said, “or I will bend this back some more.”

I did it anyway, and he squeaked in pain.

“Is that your son?” I said, tilting my head back toward the boy.

The man nodded.

“Tell him you’ll be there in minute,” I said. “Say that you’re talking to a friend.”

The man hesitated, so I bent his hand a bit more.

“Hey, I’ll be there in a minute,” he said. “I just have to talk to my friend here.”

“It’s okay, Dad,” the boy said.

Passion began singing again.

“Show me your ticket and your ID,” I said. “Don’t worry; I’m not going to steal them.”

The man did. I glanced at both, and then I handed them back to him. I kept my grip on his one hand.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” I said. “Look at my eyes. I want you to understand this. You’re going to go sit with your son. You’re going to stay there until you take him home or his mother takes your place. You’re going to tell him it’s because you miss him and want to hear the show with him. If you want, you can take him inside, and one of you can wait out here. But, you’re not going to leave him alone.”

“What do you care?” the man said. “He’s my son, and I’m not doing anything illegal.”

I changed my grip so I had just his thumb, and then I bent it back. He reached up with his free hand to stop me, but I pushed it away with my other hand and backslapped his face.

“Look at my eyes again,” I said.

He did.

“If you leave him, or if I see him crying, or if I find out you told him any of this, I am going to hurt you badly.”

“What do you mean, ‘hurt me badly’?” he said.

“I’m going to break your arm, maybe your leg,” I said. “I won’t decide until the last minute.”

“That’s not legal,” he said.

“No,” I said, “it’s not. But I will not see you abusing that boy again. He deserves more from you. He’s supposed to be able to trust you. You’re his father.”

“You wouldn’t—” the man began.

“Oh, yes, I would,” I said. “With enormous pleasure. The only reason I haven’t done it yet is that the boy is watching. Now, you get to decide whether to believe me, which I recommend, and do as I said, or to force me to hurt you. What’s it going to be?”

I stared into his eyes. A part of me very much wanted him to decide to test me. I trembled with rage.

The man nodded. “I’ll stay with him. Or she will. We won’t leave him alone.”

“Good,” I said. “I
will
check on you, at this show and every other one.” I showed him the part of the ID with “Staff” on it. “You can report me, but I’ve recorded this,” I pointed toward my shirt pocket as if I had a recorder in it, “and my edited version will show only that I tried to persuade you not to leave your son alone.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “And then I’ll break your arm or leg. Are we clear?”

“Absolutely,” he said.

“Good. Go to your boy before I change my mind.”

I moved out of the way.

The man walked to his son, sat down, and gave him a hug.

I waved to them both. I was still shaking with rage and had to force a smile as I looked at them.

I started to the stage and spotted Zoe standing against the opposite wall, looking at me. I walked over to her, and together we headed toward our usual backstage spot.

“You saw that,” I said.

“And heard it,” she said. “I can’t believe you did it.”

“He deserved it,” I said. The anger rose inside me again. “The boy certainly didn’t deserve to be sitting there crying, alone, while his parents were inside enjoying the show.”

She stopped and put a hand on my chest. “I completely agree with you. It breaks my heart to see parents treat their children like that, like they don’t exist, like they don’t matter.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I’ve seen too much of that in my life.”

“So have I,” I said before I could stop myself.

She stared at me for a few seconds. She nodded her head, as if answering some question she had asked herself. “I didn’t mean a minute ago that you shouldn’t have done it,” she said. “I didn’t mean that at all. What I meant was that I couldn’t believe you would do it when most people were just walking on by the boy as if he didn’t exist. I’m
proud
you did it.”

I had no clue what to say. My chest felt hot where her hand was touching it.

After a moment, she turned, and we walked back to the show.

As we listened to Passion, and as Zoe sang along, she inched closer to me, until less than the width of a hand separated us. I was even more conscious than usual of her presence, and of my own awkwardness.

During the rest of the show, I checked on the boy five more times. Either his father or a woman, the same one each time, his mother, I assumed, was with him every time. The boy was never alone. Once, the man sat alone.

Each time I returned, I slid into the space next to Zoe, and as she sang she glanced at me and smiled.

When the show ended, I ran to check on the boy and saw his parents lead him out, his father holding his hand.

By the time I returned, Passion had, as always, spirited away Zoe.

I returned to Lobo and went to bed. Sleep came quickly, but the nightmares followed on its heels, Manu and Benny and Bony and Nagy and all the rest, all the dead or battered children in the moments when they’d needed me most and I’d failed them, and with them now this boy, sitting alone, crying.

I sat up straight in bed, covered in sweat once more. I shook my head to clear it. Not this one boy, I thought, at least not tonight. I did not fail him tonight. “I’m proud,” Zoe had said. I didn’t feel proud, not at all, but I held onto that thought as I drifted back to sleep.

9 days from the end

Firens City

Planet Haven

CHAPTER 38

Jon Moore

T
he days of the tour held to their rhythm. With each passing show, the gap between our show crew and the rest of the world grew. We lived in our world within the greater world. There was us, and there was them, everyone else, the people who stayed behind when we moved on. I’d felt this way before, in squads in the Saw, and it was both comforting and alienating. For the first time in a very long while, for stretches of hours at a time, I felt as if I belonged in a group. Then, I’d remember that I’d lied to join them, that I was using them for access to Schmidt’s, and that I’d be leaving them right after I found what I was seeking. If I found it.

Mostly, though, I worked and focused on the day’s show, because without that commitment from each of us, the show might not happen. Problems were common and frequent, but we dealt with each one and moved to the next.

I had just finished helping a shorthanded venue team in Firens clear away some unnecessary gear and was heading back to Lobo when he contacted me over the machine frequency.

“Don’t come back here, Jon,” he said. “Go in the opposite direction, find a place to get out of sight, and stay there.”

“What’s happening?” I said. Even as I asked the question, I was already in motion, jogging toward an equipment storage area where we’d taken the venue gear we’d just moved. The space had multiple exits that led outside the old theater in which Passion was performing tonight, no one spent much time in it, and none of our crew had reason to be there. It was as good a hiding place as I could find on short notice.

“Visitors have persuaded the head of venue security to take them to Zoe,” he said. “I monitored the call with Zoe. They’re on their way here now. Can you safely watch on your comm?”